


The Lobster in the Room

by Peregrine



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peregrine/pseuds/Peregrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice finds an interesting piece of french literature among Wirt's belongings and she isn't going to let him live it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lobster in the Room

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with writing so a friend suggested I just sit down and write a drabble and...well...this happened.

“Are you serious?? About this book???” Beatrice choked out between howls of laughter.

Wirt's cheeks pooled with warmth. “G-give it back!” he cried out, leaping for the book in Beatrice's hand but she continued to hold it just out of reach as she dangled upside down from the tree branch.

“I mean I knew you were the poetic type but I didn't realize you were into this sort of thing,” she said, grinning down at him from her position. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah,” she took a deep breath before she began to speak in a sarcastic over-the-top British voice

“ _Angelina was so nervous, so frozen and exasperated by the stiffness of the corpse clutching at her life that she didn't notice Lobster's feelers brushing against her ankles. Although he was murmuring ''she ate my dad'', his gaze was already climbing the length of her legs, right up to the satin of her panties._ ”

“Please!” Wirt begged. “Please stop reading it.” His hands covered his face and he felt like he was going to melt from embarrassment.

“Oh come on. You're the one who had this book.”

“You don't understand,” Wirt said, frowning.

“What is there to understand?” Beatrice said.

“Well first of all, the lobster is a metaphor.”

“A metaphor?” Beatrice repeated before bursting into another fit of laughter. “A metaphor for what?”

“It's a metaphor for the shell we build around ourselves in our relationships,” Wirt responded, his lips drawn into a thin line.

“Someone's getting defensive,” she teased as soon as she calmed down enough to speak. “So is the lobster fucking a metaphor too?”

“You make it sound so crude!” Wirt said, pulling at his hair.

Beatrice looked him straight in the eyes, her lips parting slowly as if to savor the words as she continued on with the story. “ _The fabric was billowing around her cold-tensed buttocks. Pale downy hair stood up over goose bumps. ''She ate my dad,'' he told himself again, ''she ate my dad.''_ ”

Again, Wirt covered his face. He knew his ears must have been the color of jasper by now. “Beatrice, come on. Can you just drop this for once?” His tone was pleading. She had him in the palm of her hand and she knew it.

“Not until you let me finish reading the lobster fuck story.”

He laid his palm flat against his face. “Not a single part of this novel is meant to be taken at face value," he grumbled.

“ _Unknown feelings brew in him. Vengeance and desire make his flesh tingle in a way he's never felt before._ ” Beatrice read on. “ _He's attracted to this woman. He, a lobster, attracted to a woman. He comes closer, the better to see. The better to clarify this shocking situation. Angelina's beauty is enough to bring on fevers, and Lobster feels one mounting in him. His body heats up, but it doesn't stop his craving for vengeance._ ” Again, Beatrice had to stop to indulge a fit of laughter.

Wirt threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! Keep it!” he said. “Maybe you can relate to the lobster better than me!”

Beatrice stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Well you're the one who was a bird!”

This time Beatrice's face was the one that filled with heat. “Yeah? Well your face looks like a lobster!”

The two of them fell silent, Beatrice probably fuming. Wirt watched her, her dress hanging over her stomach and her lace tights hugging her legs and hips. She seemed unaware now of how low she was hanging and when Wirt jumped up again, he managed to grab onto her hand.

Which, as it turns out, was a big mistake.

Beatrice came toppling out of the tree with a screech, her body smashing into Wirt's as her weight pulled them both to the ground. Her legs came to straddle his upper thigh, his face dangerously close to her chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him and it took him a moment to recover.

“You dunce,” Beatrice said, trying to shove herself off him.

“I-i'm sorry!” Wirt wheezed, unexpectedly flustered by the close contact. Then it occurred to him that the book must have fallen out of her hands. He glanced around and, sure enough, it was just a few feet from his head. Trying to twist his body out from under her, he lunged for it.

“Hey, not so fast!”

He felt her elbows jabbing into his back as she tried to scramble over him. His fingers scraped the edge of the book before her weight came down fully on him, trying to stop him from moving. She used the leverage of his back to dive for the book but on Wirt's second grab for it, he felt his hand close around the soft cover.

Wirt bucked her off his back and pulled himself to his feet, attempting a run for it. Unfortunately, Beatrice wasn't going to let him go easily. She came right after him and jumped onto his back, the weight sending them both to the ground again.

Wirt rolled over to try and lose her but she just grabbed him again, pulling herself onto his stomach and sitting there. “Give it!” she demanded, grabbing the book and pulling on it.

“No!” Wirt said, pulling back on the other side. For a moment they simply glared at each other. Beatrice tugged on it and Wirt tugged back. The book was looking battered, grass staining the cover.

Then, without warning, she leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss. Wirt found himself frozen in place, his eyes widened and his heart skipping a beat.

“Beatrice w-what??” he stuttered when she pulled away.

Beatrice grinned triumphantly before tugging the book out of his hands. “You're such a pushover,” she crooned, pressing the tip of her index finger to his nose.

Wirt scowled but he wasn't going to let it go there. Instead, he grabbed either side of Beatrice's face and pulled her down again, this time pressing his lips to hers. If she was going to turn a kiss into a weapon, two could play at that game.

But, much to his surprise, Beatrice didn't push him away or call him an idiot. Instead, she returned the kiss. Wirt stared at her, unsure what to do with his lips. Then he felt her tongue graze the rim of his mouth. He gasped and let go of her, his heart pounding madly.

Beatrice pulled away, grinning down at him. “Like I said, you're a pushover.” She held firmly onto the book.

“And you're a pain in the butt,” Wirt mumbled, though he couldn't stop the heat that was flooding his face.

“But I'm your pain in the butt,” she crooned, ruffling his hair under her palm.

**Author's Note:**

> The excerpts used in this are from "Lobster" by Guillaume Lecasble.


End file.
